


Sister Knows Best

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blackmail, Control Issues, Deception, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Entrapment, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, Stalking, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets the woman of his dreams in a bar. Too bad it turns out to be his slightly unhinged sister but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sister Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sksdwrld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/gifts).



> Written for M, for two of her prompts combined - "Sister Knows Best" (for the [Merlin Writers](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com) Monthly Theme) and the idea of Arthur getting the best lay of his life only to find out she's his sister.

She found him in a bar. He wasn’t hard to spot. Blond hair, blue eyes, an ego crying out for attention like a baby cries out for its mother. She might even have felt bad for him in that moment, because he never had a mother, just like she never had a father. But she didn’t. She was Morgana Le Fey. She’d never felt bad for anyone in her life and if she were to start, she was certain she’d feel sorry for herself first.

She trailed her fingers along the bar to make sure she had his attention and then she raised her eyebrow at the empty seat next to him. “May I?”

He looked up at her, eyes widening before returning to normal. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Sure.”

She smiled, not too much, just enough and sat down beside him. She wouldn’t do anything as silly as assume he was going to buy her a drink so she waved over a barman and ordered her own. Chardonnay, very dry. Simple on the surface but hinting that she knew exactly what she wanted. She’d done this before, of course.

She took the glass from the bartender’s hand, by the stem, rather than letting him set it down. She’d planned every move and tested it all several times. It was an art for her and one she was proud of.

“Let me get that,” the boy beside her said.

She smiled again, the same smile. Gratitude but not desperation. “Thank you.”

She ran her finger up the stem of the glass on purpose. “I’m Morgana.”

She already knew his name. Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon. Aged nineteen though he would say he was twenty-one, if she asked. He’d order himself a neat scotch, because that was what Uther drank. He would need three of them before he was drunk. He’d already had one.

“I’m Arthur,” he said, as the little details flew around her head.

She lifted her glass to her lips to stop herself from fatally saying, _I know_.

-x-

Back at her place there were no pictures of her family. No photos of her as a kid. No heirlooms or knickknacks that might identify her. She liked it that way. Everything of her childhood was locked away in a safe deposit box where she could visit it if she ever wanted to but otherwise, she could forget about them without the guilt of throwing it all away.

When her mother left her, walking out one day and never coming back, she left Morgana everything. Which was nothing at all really. A seven year old girl couldn’t pay the mortgage on the house or drive the car or look after their pet cat. She couldn’t use the money left in an account for her. She couldn’t buy herself a family. She couldn’t buy her way out of care.

When she was eighteen, she had no choice but to make her own way, the money that had been left to her eleven years before seeming like nothing in the face of council tax, national insurance, rent and food. She had to rely on the only other thing she had: a name on a scrap of paper. Her father.

“I love your place,” Arthur said, dragging her out of her memories.

“Thank you,” she said distractedly. Everything in it, from the white paint to the chrome tables and black leather sofa, was her way of disowning the idea of a family. Anyone who walked in there without her would think a single young man lived there, no doubt. She was almost allergic to soft furnishings, carpet and wallpaper. She hated mess. She wasn’t surprised he liked it; he probably lived somewhere exactly the same, only he didn’t have to scrape for every scrap of furniture.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked and she knew what he was thinking. Had she just brought it and not had a chance to make it _girly_ yet.

“About four years, next May,” she answered with a shrug. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to her age. She’d told him she was twenty-three. She’d actually been twenty-three when she’d bought this place. She didn’t lie because she thought he’d reject her if he knew how old she was. She looked good for her age and he obviously wasn’t complaining. She’d lied just in case he’d ever been told the truth.

She watched his face for a sign of surprise or disapproval, just in case he was one of those _women belong in the kitchen with children running around their ankles_ types, like his father was but he just nodded again. “It’s nice.”

“I think so,” Morgana said, refreshed by the honesty. He wasn’t gushing to get in her good books. He wasn’t thinking a real woman should be all pink and flowers. He said what he thought. She liked that. “Another drink?”

It would be his third. She’d probably be taking advantage if he said yes but how many times had men offered her another drink to try and get her tipsy enough to think falling into bed with them was a good idea. She knew better than that.

“Or we could skip the drink?” Arthur asked, catching her hand and taking her by surprise. She didn’t know why. This was what was supposed to happen. She’d planned it to every detail. She’d made sure they laughed and she’d put her hand on his knee when she’d suggested they go back to her place. But she was still startled when he took the initiative. Not many people had the chance to catch her off her guard. She didn’t let them.

“Or we could skip the drink,” Morgana agreed, leaning in to kiss him. She had to be the first to do that. She had to be the one to start the kiss, to decide when to deepen it, choose to let his hands run up her back and into her hair, pulling it from her high ponytail until it flowed down her back.

But it was his hand that tugged on hers, wanting to be led into a bedroom. Panic rose in her throat and she pulled the hand back, pulling him back into her body, pressing them both against the kitchen counter instead. She had to invite him in. It was _her_ room.

Morgana pushed the thought away; she knew what she was doing. It was all under her control. She had it under control. She slipped her hand away from his, taking back the ability to lead. Each touch was measured; just enough to nudge them further towards the inevitable end but not enough to give him ideas.

The counter dug into her back and she relented, pushing him back and breaking their kiss so she could walk towards her bedroom, beckoning him to follow. He did of course, like a puppy. She closed the door behind him and pushed him against it, kissing him again. She didn’t want to give him enough time to look around, make judgements on her room and its complete lack of personal touches. It was merely an extension of the rest of her apartment. White walls, chrome handles, wooden floors, black sheets on the bed. Cotton, not silk or anything like that.

Arthur placed a hand on her face, running his fingers over her pale cheek and reddened lips. She could see herself reflected back in his pupils, they were so dilated. If he was breaking the kiss, it was because he wanted more. 

She slid her black dress off her white frame, revealing lace knickers and a half cup bra, both just as black. If he noticed the same contrast throughout her life, black and white, he didn’t comment on it. Which was fine, she wasn’t going to explain it to him anyway. But he fitted in nicely with it, with his crisp white shirt and black trousers, his white boxers with Calvin Klein written in big black letters around the waistband. The colours settled her heart and calmed her mind. He was just like her really. Nearly.

Letting him lift her, she made sure when they landed on the bed, she was on top. Catching his hands, she made sure it stayed that way. He was young, she knew better than to think he was a virgin, that wouldn’t be fitting with the Pendragon lifestyle but she knew he would follow her lead. She unhooked her bra before he tried to do it himself but she let him reach up to touch her, one hand palming her breast while the other splayed over her back, trying to pull her closer, pull her down.

She put her hand on his chest, pushing him back down with a reproving smile and a laugh, to show she wasn’t entirely serious even though she was. She kept her hand where it was, just in case but she relaxed the pressure and used her other hand to guide him inside her. She blinked through the discomfort, knowing that her tightness would mean he probably wouldn’t last that long. She didn’t care about her own pleasure, she would get that later, but his was crucial to her. Leaning back as she rolled her hips, she reached for her phone. She’d dropped it on the bed on purpose, without it; her plan would amount to nothing.

She half hoped he’d be too drunk or too into it to notice but to her surprise, he raised his eyebrows and practically smiled for the camera. 

“Here,” she said, passing him the phone. “You can take one of me, if you want.”

She held still to pose for the camera before tilting her head back and pushing her chest forward, riding him, pretending not to notice he was still taking pictures until she tired of his lack of attention. She took the phone from his hands and set it on her bedside table, leaning down to kiss him instead.

While her guard was down, he sat up to meet her and the roll of her hips faltered. Having him this close made her flush, feeling altogether too hot and too claustrophobic but she couldn’t give up. If he wanted to be that close to her, she’d have to indulge it. She moved her hands to his back, resting her forehead against his and focusing in on his eyes. They were blue. The notion tipped her off balance again. She’d expected them to be green.

She didn’t have to look in them long, he buried his face in her chest as he came, huffing hot air against her skin. She was relieved, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to hold her nerve if he kept looking at her. She wasn’t guilty. She didn’t pity him. She just couldn’t help but feel they deserved _more_ than this.

She climbed off him, throwing herself back against the bed in a strange mixture of frustration and disquiet. She couldn’t take it back now. It was done.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” she said, flicking the light switch beside her bed and plunging them into darkness before he could say anything to ruin it for her. She’d be herself again in the morning.

-x-

Arthur woke with a hand trailing over his chest. When he opened his eyes and saw ebony dark hair, brilliant green eyes and a mischievous smile, he remembered the night before. Morgana.

"Good morning, Arthur" she said, balancing her chin on his chest and gazing up at him.

"Already?" Arthur asked sleepily. He knew he should scramble out of there and make his excuses, that was the one night stand protocol after all but he found himself wanting to stay a bit longer even though he vaguely knew he couldn’t.

“Well, that’s what you get for staying up all night,” Morgana chastised him, tapping his chest playfully. “Breakfast?”

Arthur stretched and sighed, cursing his job. “I wish I could but I have to get to work. My boss, he’s... well, he’s my father.”

A brief look of hurt flickered through Morgana’s eyes but she quickly buried it. “Fine. The bathroom is through there if you want to shower and you know where the door is.”

She pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed, giving Arthur the barest glimpse of her naked figure before she wrapped it in a knee length black silk kimono and stormed out like an intense but visually attractive hurricane.

“Well done, Arthur,” he muttered to himself, considering his options. He wanted to follow her and make things better but he wasn’t lying, he really did have to get to work. He decided that maybe it was for the best if he had a shower and gave her a few moments to calm down. He didn’t want to wreck things before he’d barely gotten to know her.

-x-

Morgana fumed over her tiny espresso cup, resisting the urge to throw it at the wall. She’d been doing so well, not letting it get personal, then he had to go and ruin it by-

“I left the shower running, in case you wanted one,” Arthur said from the doorway, making Morgana jump, not least because he was only wearing a towel. A sight that she couldn’t deny was pleasing to the eye and went a way to soften her resentment.

“You’re still here then?” she asked, trying not to sound hopeful but at the same time, less angry than she had been before. Emotional middle grounds weren’t her strong suit but Arthur smiled so she figured she must have got it right.

“I decided I have time for a slice of toast, at least,” he said hesitantly.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Morgana said, flashing her fakest but brightest smile. “It’s only breakfast, not a commitment. You don’t have to look like a deer in the headlights, you know.”

“It’s not that.” Arthur leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms in what Morgana assumed was an attempt to play it cool. “I’m just worried I ballsed it up. I like you, Morgana and I’m not doing a runner, I promise. Not unless you want me to.”

“Of course not,” Morgana said quickly, putting bread in the toaster. “I just don’t meet many guys that stick around once they’ve sobered up. They tend to think I’m strange, can’t think why.”

“Well, if you are then I like strange. I’d like to get to know you better... when I don’t have to rush off to work, I mean,” Arthur offered as Morgana drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for the toast to be done.

“Are you asking me out, Mr Pendragon?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back for luck.

“Yeah, though I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it. Can I just give you my number and save us both the embarrassment?”

Morgana made a show of considering and then smiled. “Oh, alright, as you asked so nicely, dear... Arthur.”

She walked around her kitchen table and around him to fetch her phone from her room, biting her tongue at the near miss. She programmed in half the information for him on the walk back to the kitchen, she knew it all off by heart anyway. When she handed him the phone, all he had to do was put in his number. She knew that as well, like it was her own number, but she didn’t let on as she waited patiently for her phone back.

“May I?” she asked, tapping out of her contacts and into her camera. “So I know to pick up the phone when I see it’s you. I can’t very well use the other ones, can I?”

“Date a lot of Arthurs, do you?” he asked, before straightening the towel he was wearing. “Don’t you want me dressed this time?”

“No, you’re perfect as you are,” Morgana said, beaming. She couldn’t have asked for a better photo. She took one of his face, just to assign to the contact, to back up her lie. Then she zoomed back out and took one that included his bare and slightly wet chest, right up to the line of the towel. That one she wouldn’t show him. Keeping the camera on, she leaned in for a kiss, keeping her eyes open as she wrapped her arms around his neck, still holding the phone. With her thumb, she altered the perspective so the camera reflected her face and Arthur’s. Staring directly into the camera, she snapped a few extra shots to go with the ones she’d taken the night before.

“I’ll call you later then,” Morgana said once the screen was clear and she could safely break the kiss. “You better get dressed if you don’t want to be late.”

“The toast?” Arthur asked, looking forlornly at the kitchen counter and the toaster.

“Right,” Morgana said, ducking away from him and fetching the toast, taking a tiny bite out of it herself before handing it over. “Only a bit burnt.”

“Good job I like it... toasty,” Arthur joked, taking a bite out of the other side of it.

“Perfect. You can eat it while you get dressed.” Morgana forced a smile, fighting back the urge to push him towards the door. Now she had what she wanted, she had things to do with it and the longer he lingered, the worse she’d start to feel.

“Are you alright? You seem in a rush...” Arthur said but thankfully he took the hint and started off towards her bedroom.

“I just haven’t had my morning coffee yet,” she said after him and then closed the kitchen door, just in case he should creep up on her again.

She sat back down at the table, scrolling through all the photos. Most were dark and blurry but she chose a few good ones and the two new ones she’d taken, perfectly clear and bright, undeniable. Attaching them in a message, she typed out another number she knew by heart. The personal phone number for Uther Pendragon.

Smiling to herself she picked up her coffee and took a sip as she typed out the text she’d been thinking like a mantra every second Arthur had been inside her.

_Father dearest, are you going to give your daughter what is rightfully hers or will young Arthur find out the hard way that Sister knows best? Love, Morgana Pendragon._

She set the phone down and took her place in the hallway, ready to show her brother the door, for the first and hopefully the last time. But she didn’t count on it. She had a feeling she’d be calling Arthur again before the day was out.

**Author's Note:**

> As of 01/01/18, I'm opting to disable comments. [More information here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13077201).


End file.
